Expiration Date
by eattaholic
Summary: Ex·pire (verb) \ik-ˈspī(-ə)rbr / : to end : to no longer be valid after a period of timebr / : to die


**Inspired by Tablo's song with the same title**  
><strong>(try listening to it while reading. Here's the link: watch?v=7qbM9WRgIdA)<strong>

**The usual disclaimer apply :)**  
><strong>Enjoy~<strong>

* * *

><p>Twelve closed his eyes, concentrating his senses to the sounds of summer, hoping for colors to swirl beneath his eyelids. The only color he'd seen since the incident was black though; the color of gloomy, depressed souls with no hope of salvation. (Which was the color of his eyes now, warm orbs turning cold and lifeless due to extreme stress and self-pity)<p>

Twelve sighed, his limbs that were sprawled on his bed were tremendously thin and miserable; with bone contours jutted out from here and there. He was too lazy to move, too out of energy to even run his right hand through his damp, bed tousled hair that was far too sticky to comfort. He opened his eyes and was greeted by harsh morning sunlight (or maybe it was afternoon? He couldn't tell). Twelve groaned and forced his body to roll over to shield his eyes from the unpleasant light. The old mattress made a squeaky noise as he did so.

Beside him, Nine rose from his bed, adjusting his glasses with one hand before making his way to the window of their old hideout; a small room hidden above a rundown arcade. He put his hands on his pocket (like he always did) while eyeing the bright, cloudless summer sky. The sound of the bustling city of Tokyo at noon was enough to brought his splitting headaches back; each jab resonated with the honking cars and pedestrians' footsteps (which sounded like an army marching to war) but Nine willed the pain away. He'd suffered enough even without it.

It's amazing how a crippled city could get back to their feet this fast. It's only been a year and the dead city; isolated from the world because of the electricity shortage was nowhere to be seen. Tokyo had been restored to its former glory, as if mocking the duo that it took more than _that _to bring Tokyo down. (But Tokyo was never their main objective to begin with, so both Nine and Twelve were actually relieved to see the city healed)

Compared to the reinstated city, Nine and Twelve's days played out like a broken soundtrack; on loop and without any substances. Twelve would wake up with a jolt and his hair damp at ungodly hours, and Nine hadn't eaten something with more nutrition than canned coffee these days; as the shadows from the incident which happened years ago (he couldn't be too sure. What day was today again?) still haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

Twelve's eyes were bloodshot from those countless hours staring at the clock which hands didn't even move anymore; and Nine's eyes were surrounded by black circles from those endless nights he spent without sleeping.

A dull eon passed. (But the clock's hands remained unmoving)

They didn't even speak anymore. Both of them even had forgotten how their voices sounded. All they heard were soft gasps that escaped Twelve's lips every time he was jolted awake and Nine's scoff when Twelve actually _tried _to make a decent breakfast and failed miserably.

(Nine's scoff was more directed to himself more than to Twelve though. At least Twelve _tried _to move on. He couldn't)

But one day Nine woke up from a dreamless sleep and automatically dragged himself to the bathroom to get ready for work, only to realize that he didn't have to go to his various side jobs to support his and Twelve's live anymore.

This time it's Twelve's turn to scoff at him.

Seasons may had changed; from summer to autumn and winter and spring and finally the year had taken its roll and we're back at summer again. Summer was no good; bad things had always taken place in summer, especially on days when the sun was too hot (which made them perspired as much as _that day _when their tiny hands grabbed the wire fence to freedom with Death's hands burning on their skin, teasing them as if calculating when was the perfect time to take them away).

_What day is today? What year is it? What month? What time? What am I doing here? Why am I here? Why why why…_

The list of question only grew bigger as each day passed, but none was solved. Twelve wasn't _Twelve_ anymore; he was just an occupant of this depressed space filled with misery and tight, suffocating air that might have killed him anytime. Twelve was reduced to just a _boy, a brunette_, who spent his day looking at the clock and hoping that time would start moving for him again, or at the calendar trying to figure out what today's date was.

As time passed (he couldn't be too sure if time had really _passed or not_. Twelve had always hated time because it was a riddle that even Nine couldn't solve. Like_ how long a second really is? If, for instance, there're two different clocks with two different intervals between each 'seconds' and two different people used it, didn't that mean each person's body clock would_ _react to a different time? Is it possible for them to age differently, as the first person's time flowed faster than the second? If that's the case, what is the purpose of clock then, if time is fluid? ),_ Twelve got tired of asking. He didn't even care which century he was in. It's just him lying in his room where the time had stopped moving, with Nine who had stopped using his laptop since only God knows when.

Twelve felt like he'd died. He's still breathing but, he'd done _nothing_ except staring at the clock (and hoping the hands would move again, hopefully backwards) and adding nothing but instant noodles for his diet list. Nine's headaches never came back, but so did his sharp gaze and witty mouth.

Sometimes Twelve would look over the mess they'd made; empty coffee cans and instant noodles' wrappers along with the crumbs (Twelve gave up on cooking) were thrown everywhere, the bed was unkempt. Their coffee table was missing one leg and was propped with a stack of books Twelve couldn't remember reading. Sometimes Twelve would see Nine crying a tear that wasn't his before he succumbed to sleep out of exhaustion.

Not only their living space, Twelve and Nine had made a mess out of themselves too. And suddenly it was summer again.

Twelve thought of Lisa most of times. He missed the light color that surrounded her every time he heard her voice. He missed her company. He missed being needed. What's funny was that from stranger's point of view Lisa was nothing. Lisa was no more than a catalyst leading them to their misery because of her slip-ups and weakness.

The thing was, from Twelve's eyes, Lisa was an anchor. She kept both him and Nine anchored to earth by just being there. She was a taste of normalcy he and Nine never had. Nine thought so too, he just never let it shown. But he did realize that they needed Lisa as much as Lisa needed them; even if it was only for a guilty pleasure. When Nine and Twelve was too immersed in their whole revenge thing, Lisa stepped in and ruined everything, forcing them to reconsider their plan. (Making them back down and take a short breather from their quest to save the world— at least the world they'd been living in)

In the end, only Twelve _really _stepped back and go for Lisa. Nine thought everything was ending at that time, the only person he'd been with all this years, his most trusted friend and _brother_ was gone because of Lisa. But then it was Lisa too who brought them back together, making them realize that the word _accomplice _Nine had carelessly uttered back then did have a meaning. Lisa started as a stranger, then an accomplice before she broke into their circle and truly became a part of their little group.

The most bizarre thing was that Lisa did it without batting an eye. Sure she was scared, but it's not _them _she was scared about, it's the fear of disappointing them. Lisa was either brave or foolish, Twelve thought. Rushing into the lion's den empty-handed was a foolish thing for a normal person to do. But Lisa was outcast anyway, the same went with Nine and Twelve. She never had anything to call as her home.

(Maybe that's the reason Nine and Twelve were so drawn to her at the beginning)

Twelve got out from bed and looked at the mirror. Reflected on it was a girl with black, shoulder length hair, dead eyes and pale skin. It was Mishima Lisa wearing Twelve's clothes, sometimes Nine's, shutting herself in their old hideout. It was Mishima Lisa who curled up in twelve's bed, relishing on his scent (though it was long since replaced by a moldy stench for hadn't been washed for so long), and then suddenly she was looking out of the window the same way Nine looked at the scenery that unfolded outside.

It was Mishima Lisa who'd let her time to expire; because she couldn't afford to move on after all those things that had happened. Lisa just couldn't stop blaming herself because she knew that her involvement jeopardized the whole plan in more than one way, and that she was to blame for their death.

(Lisa sometimes dreamt about the night when Twelve told her his past and thanking her for being there with him. Lisa hoped he didn't; she was _not _worthy for it. She liked to think that she was really important to them in some way but—

But the guilt for being that selfish was eating her slowly inside through all those night of clutching tightly on Twelve's sweatshirt she was wearing while she laid down on Nine's bed in fetal position.)

Lisa stared at the calendar until her eyes were bloodshot, eyeing a certain day in August where she'd lost the people dearest to her, debating whether or not she was worthy to meet them.

After an infinity passed, with a sigh, Lisa dragged her feet to the bathroom and changed her attire to her old school uniform. She didn't even go to school anymore, and both of them would call her bluff at the first glance, but Lisa didn't care. She just need to show that she'd moved on, even though she couldn't.

Mishima Lisa opened the door and went to where Nine and Twelve were waiting.

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(Oh and maybe she'd stop at the convenience store first and mix a half glass of cola, a half glass of green tea and then toss a Mentos inside just to relive old memories)


End file.
